Gasping
by TIRN33
Summary: With a bleeding belly, Friday runs. She runs from the bloodshed, she runs from the flying bullets, but most important: she runs from death. Oc/?
1. Running

**I haven't written in a LONG while and I just got into The Walking Dead. So, here's something. **

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><p>She continued to sprint through the woods. Her hand was pressed against her belly; trying to stop the bleeding. She continued to cry as she pushed passed the branches and leaped over bushes. The jumps hurt, but the landings were worse. She would stumble, then quickly regain herself as she continued to run. She swung the axe that was in her right hand at the Biters that reached for her. She was quick to dispose of them but knew that this would only be temporary since she squeaked and cried out with every swing and landing from the jumps. She could hear the faint rustle of the branches or the cracks of the trees that erupted from far off. Then, the gurgling noises...the growling...the groaning. She would hear it and quickly turn the other way. She jumped over a pile of tossed tree branches and broke free from the plethora of trees.<p>

That's when she saw it.

She saw the fence, the barn, and the little house near the end. Near the house, under the trees, she could see an RV. She gasped and quickly made her way towards the farm. In the faint distance, she could hear someone shouting and she was hoping they were noticing her. She hoped they could help her. She hoped they wouldn't gun her down.

No, she couldn't handle that again.

She allowed her axe to drop and drag behind her as she slowed her running to a slow walking. She glanced up to see men running at her. They had shovels and guns in their hands. She hoped to God they weren't going to kill her.

And if they were, she hoped it would be quick.

But as they got closer, they lowered their weapons and quickly slowed their pace. She coughed and hunched over slightly.

"Ma'am?" She heard one of them call.

She straightened herself out, only to realize that was a bad idea and stumble off to the side before regaining her stance. She swallowed and tipped her head to the side.

"Help..."

She collapsed.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! R&amp;R pls :D<strong>


	2. Waking

**I had accidentally uploaded a draft to this one lol. Sorry about that. But here's the actual chapter! Enjoy!**

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><p>She groaned awake. She was in a bed.<p>

_Holy shit. _

She quickly shot up, only to regret it entirely and fall back. She cried out and grabbed onto her stomach. The bleeding was gone, but the pain was still there. She could feel something under her shirt. Except it wasn't her shirt. She wasn't wearing a dark blue sweater when she was running. But she could feel ridges under it.

_Stitches_.

She gasped and grunted as she attempted to push herself up; slowly this time.

"Whoa, slow down there." She heard. She looked up to see an old man stroll into the room. "You shouldn't push yourself like that. You'll pop one a' your stitches." He sat down on the chair beside the bed.

She looked down at her stomach, "I knew it." She then turned her attention to the old man. "Who are you? Where am I? I mean, I know I'm on a farm, but _where _am I? Am I-."

"Slow down," the old man repeated. "I'm Hershel Greene. You're on my farm. But I want to know who _you _are."

She nodded. "Right, sorry. I'm Friday. Friday Silva."

"Mind telling me what happened to you? Because I know that was a knife wound in your belly. And the bullet wound in your shoulder means you were attacked. Am I wrong?" Hershel continued.

Friday swallowed again and began to shutter. She remembered it. She remembered _all _of it. The group that came to "talk" and quickly began to threaten her camp. She remembers the gun fire...the _screaming. _

She looked back up and Hershel and shook her head; blinking back tears. "Not yet," her voice cracked.

Hershel nodded. He then placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself up, off the chair. "When you're ready, I suppose."

She nodded.

"If you need anything, just call."

But she didn't. She just laid in the bed for hours. She had been running for so long; she had been out for so long, that she forgot what a bed felt like. She curled herself around the sheets (curling seemed to help better then being stretched out) and pulled the pillow down to cuddle it. Maybe she could actually sleep.

_Sleep. _

It's been so long, that she forgot what sleep is like. Not when she would have to jump awake every five seconds because of the Biters breaking through the bushes. She rested her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. She didn't know how long it took for her to drift off into sleep. But right now, she didn't care.

"How long has she been asleep?" Rick questioned as he walked into the loft area. "We brought her in around noon and now it's almost sun down." He threw his hand back to the window.

Hershel looked up from the table to see that Rick was right. The sun was slowly setting under the horizon of trees that shielded them off from the hoard of Walkers. Hershel smiled and nodded as he pushed himself up from the chair. "In her defense, the girl is horribly injured. And Lord knows how long she'd been running."

"She needs to wake up so we can question her." Rick demanded.

"You're in my house, Rick. Not a police station. Leave the Interrogations to me." Hershel motioned to the stairway. "I already told you, she was shaken up when I asked her what happened to her. Whatever happened, it's gonna take some time for her to explain."

"Time we don't really have-." Rick started.

"Time and patience are two different things, Rick." Hershel stopped at the staircase. "She's _healing_. Let her heal."

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><p>The sun broke through the curtains and shone down on Friday. She groaned and pressed the palm of her hand against her eye. She rubbed and pushed herself up from the covers she was wrapped up in. Her forehead was sweating and she realized it was the most sleep she'd have since it all started. She was even <em>drooling<em>. She hadn't drooled since the college days. She wiped it from her mouth and attempted to sit up-right on the bed. It hurt just as bad as yesterday; the stitches were so uncomfortable and stabbed into her skin as she shifted. Friday then pulled the covers off of her. The sun was only making her hot figure only hotter. She glanced up to see a plate and a glass of orange juice on the nightstand next to her bed. With glee, Friday quickly reached to grab it; ignoring the pain in her stomach to fill the _emptiness _that had been there for _months_. Scrambled eggs, toast, a few bacon strips, and hash browns. How perfect.

A knock came at the door.

"Mm-Hmm!" She called with a mouthful of eggs.

Hershel opened the door with a small smile. "Good afternoon." He greeted.

Friday slapped her plate against her thighs. "It's _noon_? I'm _so _sorry! It's been so long since I've actually been able to sleep, you know?"

"It's fine." Hershel nodded as he waved his hand. "Just don't make a habit of it, alright?"

She nodded, "Yeah, okay."

"How are you feeling?"

Friday glanced down at her sweater, where her stitches would be. "Uhm, well, it still hurts. It's actually _uncomfortable_." She stuck her fork in the eggs. "But it just feels like cramps to be honest and I'm pretty used to that." She giggled.

Hershel nodded once more. "Good. That's good." He paused. "Well, there's a man that want to talk to you...ask you a few questions."

Friday nodded. "One of the guys that helped me from yesterday, right?"

Hershel nodded. "Yes."

"Okay..." She glanced down at her plate. Then stuck her head up. "I don't have to tell him what happened to me, right?"

"I told him that you're not ready to talk to them about what happened. And right now, he's respecting your wishes."

Friday sighed in relief. "Okay,"

He then walked up to her. "May I see the stitches? I need to make sure you didn't pop them."

"Oh, you did them?" She reached for the hem of her sweater.

"Yes, I was a Vet before everything happened." He informed as he glanced at the stitches.

"A Vet? Like a Veteran in the Army?"

"A Veterinarian."

"Oh," Her face went pale for a second.

He nodded and then made his way to the door. "I'll let him in soon."

Friday nodded in response. "Oh, Hershel?"

"Yes?"

She raised the plate. "Thanks...for everything."

He nodded and left the room.

She then turned her attention back to her plate and continued eating. The toast was a little soggy but she wasn't complaining. Not after they've let her sleep in her bed until noon and stitched her up. She continued to bask in the bed while eating until another knock came to the door.

"Come in," Friday granted with a mouth full of eggs.

The door opened to allow a tall man with blue eyes and curly brown hair to enter the room. He was covered in sweat and smelled of musk; a small beard was growing down his jawline and his t-shirt was slightly muddy.

"Good afternoon, Friday." He greeted.

"'Afternoon." She waved. "I still can't believe I slept in. How rude."

The man smirked. "Hershel doesn't really mind. You were pretty beat up when we found you."

Friday nodded once more. "Yeah, you could say that."

He crossed his arms. "Hershel told me you didn't want to talk about what happened to you."

Friday shook her head.

"May I ask why not?"

"You may not." She shoved more eggs into her mouth.

The man nodded. "You don't have to go into detail. Just give me a general idea of what happened to you."

Friday pulled in air, then released it and tapped her fork against her plate to think. Finally, she opened her mouth, "I was attacked by another group of survivors." That took more out of her than she thought. Her voice cracked and her eyes watered. Friday cleared her throat and turned back to her plate.

She could see the man nod from her peripheral vision. "Well, Friday, I'm Rick Grimes. I'm...the leader of my group that's set out there in the front." He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the RV that stood outside the house.

"You guys don't associate with Hershel?" She smirked.

"We do, we just don't live in his house. Plus...we just got into some trouble with him. So we don't really bother him much lately."

"May I ask what you did?"

"You may not."

Friday smiled and looked up at him. Rick smiled back. She liked him.

"Well, Rick, other than asking me the _painfully _obvious question of what happened to me, what else are you gonna ask me?"

"How many people have you killed?" Rick started.

Friday laughed. "I couldn't even kill one of those Biters out there. Let alone a _human_."

"How many Walkers have you killed then?"

"Five, maybe six?" She shrugged. "My dad never really let me swing my little axe." Friday made a motioning of her wrist in the way she would swing an axe. "And my brother would take them out before I even had a chance to _pick up _my axe."

"You didn't have a gun?" Rick cocked a brow.

"Nah," She answered. "Guns and I have a really bad history."

"You mentioned your dad and brother. Are they-?"

"I said I didn't want to talk about that." Friday's voice cracked once more.

Rick broke it down: Her family was killed by the survivors. She didn't have to say much. But that basically allowed for him to know without her going into the gruesome details.

"Alright, sorry." Rick tipped his head to the side. "Do you have anywhere you can go?"

Friday shook her head. "My dad, brother, and I were just...walking around until we _found _some place to stay..."

Rick nodded once more.

"Are you gonna send me back out there by myself?" The fear in her voice was eminent.

"Honestly, I don't know yet." Rick answered. "We have another one here that we might be doing the same thing to."

Friday cocked a brow. "Yeah? He hurt, too?"

"Yeah, he fell on a spike of fence."

"Oooo." Friday cringed. "That sucks. Is he okay, though?"

"Yeah, it went through his leg. He'll be fine, though."

"How old is he?"

Rick shrugged. "Don't know. Around your age?"

"I'm eighteen." Friday stated. "I turned eighteen when all of this went down...some birthday, huh?" She chuckled. "But...you're gonna just send him back out?"

"We just don't know what we should do with him."

"Does he have people?"

"Yes,"

"Then he'll be fine." She shrugged.

"We don't know if those people are dangerous, though."

"True!" Friday pointed her fork at him. "Very true. Good thinking." She tapped the fork against her head. "I would have just sent him packing." She giggled. "Now, you've got a pickle."

Rick chuckled. "You have no idea."

Friday nodded. "Yeah, I understand, Rick. You don't wanna keep me because you don't trust me. After what happened, I think it's pretty hard to trust people. But...you guys helped me. You could have left me for a Biter or something."

"We could have." Rick agreed.

"But...I don't have anyone...not anymore." Her voice cracked again. "And I only have knives on me...and my axe."

"Yeah, we checked your bag."

"Wow, rude."Friday laughed.

"Just a precaution." Rick chuckled as well.

"I get it...kinda. But yeah, I get it." She set her fork on her plate and then placed it on the nightstand. "I mean, I know it sounds like I'm selling myself but, honestly, I don't have anyone. And there's no _way _I can survive out there on my own. I'm sorry. I'll learn, though. If that's what it takes, I'll learn." She paused. "If I hadn't found this farm, I think I would have kept running...and probably died."

Rick's smile widened. "Well it's a good thing you found us."

"Yeah," His smile made her blush a bit. He was very attractive. But she could tell by the ring around his finger that he was married.

_Keep your distance, Friday_.

"Hey, just for future reference, what's this dude's name?" Friday looked back up at him.

"Randall." Rick answered.

Friday blinked.

_"What do you think, Randall? You think they're lying to us?" _

"Does he have brown hair?" Friday asked.

Rick's arms uncrossed. "Yeah."

"How tall is he?"

"At least up to my chest."

_"They've got food to last them for __**days." **_

Friday could feel her face turn red.

"Do you know him?" Rick leaned forward.

_"What do you say, old man? You got food on you?" _

_"No, I barely have food to feed my kids_."

"Yeah," She whispered.

_"Listen, man. We don't wanna start anything. Just give us the food." _

"How?"

_"You're not taking anything from us!" _

_Friday heard the click of her father's gun. _

"He killed my father." A tear shed from her eye.

_The gun fire went off._


End file.
